The R&R Files
by Todash
Summary: A collection of short, unrelated one-shots that all have one thing in common: the boys are on leave. Oh wait, two things: they're all slash: B.J./Hawkeye. Updated with ficlets 4 and 5 - now complete.
1. Tokyo

**Tokyo**

"If you wanna go resting and recreating with geishas, don't let me stop you," B.J. said. "I'll go for a walk on the Ginza. I'll be fine on my own."

"No," Hawkeye replied, leaning against the doorframe, managing to look tousled and suave all at the same time. "I'm not in the mood for geishas."

Their first R&R together in Tokyo, and B.J. had fully expected to be flying solo for most of the three days, so he was surprised to hear that Hawkeye wasn't interested in carnal pursuits. He wasn't just being a pal, either, when he said he'd be fine on his own. He would've been perfectly content to wander aimlessly around the city and while away the days; any time out from the war was more than welcome, whether you spent it in the company of your best friend or not.

"C'mon, let's go find someplace to eat," Hawkeye suggested then, and B.J. smiled and said sure. They left his hotel room, found a fancy restaurant down the street and spent three hours eating, talking, laughing, and forgetting they were in the middle of a war.

When they got back to the hotel, it was well after midnight. There'd been very little drinking; it was laughter and fun they'd gotten drunk on, for a change. Everything felt good. No need to think about the 4077th for a few days, with its seemingly endless supply of casualties and nearly 'round the clock OR sessions. B.J. felt lighter than he'd felt in many months.

He unlocked the door to his room and they both entered, Hawkeye's arm around B.J.'s shoulders, their bodies brushing against each other, laughter lingering and spirits high. Hawkeye flung himself onto the bed, finishing his story about the night he and Trapper concocted an imaginary soldier named Capt. Tuttle. B.J. just sat there beside him on the bed, watching his bright eyes, thinking it was a shame he hadn't met Hawkeye under other circumstances, before the war… in med school maybe. This carefree Hawkeye—joyful, boyish—was such a delight.

His tale told, his laughter dying down, Hawkeye sighed and said, "This is just what the doctor ordered." He sat up then, and looked B.J. squarely in the eye, "Tokyo's a beautiful city, isn't it?"

"It's OK with me if we never go back to the war." B.J. wished he had a drink in his hands, just for something to fiddle with. For some reason—he wasn't sure why—he was feeling nervous. Maybe it was the fact that it was just him and Hawkeye alone in the room; back at camp, there were always people around. Even on the occasions they had the Swamp to themselves, there were still people right outside the door, milling in the compound. Or maybe it was the silence of this room. No ambient noise, only distant, muffled sounds coming from the city outside the window. Or maybe it was the intense blue eyes looking at him now, practically burning a hole through him. He couldn't help it, he had to look away, first at his empty hands, then across the room, before realizing how ridiculously uncomfortable he must appear, casting his eyes every which way. He gave up and his eyes landed back on Hawkeye's. He tried to sound casual as he said, "Y'know, you surprised me—not that I'm complaining, mind you. But I thought for sure you'd want to spend your R&R with a woman… or women."

"Nah. You're the only person I wanted to spend R&R with," Hawkeye replied, his gaze unwavering and his voice soft, innuendo crystallizing in the air between them. B.J. froze as the penny finally dropped. His heart fluttered; he could feel his face flush and his mouth go dry. _Jesus, I'm dense, _he thought.

A brief mental picture of his wife was followed by a vivid vision of male bodies entangled… _their _bodies… B.J. took a breath and tried to focus. At first his brain got defensive on him: where'd _that _image come from? But he had to admit it wasn't the first time he'd thought about Hawk in that way. Just a time or two before, his thoughts had strayed to the sexual, but never seriously… until now, when the possibility was suddenly so real.

The silence was spinning out. He couldn't imagine what to say. But Hawkeye never had that problem. As he shifted closer to B.J. on the bed, he said, very deliberately, "We each have a room. You can send me to mine right now if you want to. Just tell me to leave."

But B.J. shook his head. "No. Stay."

Hawkeye moved again. Personal space invaded. What else was new? B.J. resisted the knee-jerk reaction to scoot away. He was a little uneasy, his mind was reeling, but what he was feeling mostly was desire. Longing.

It seemed, actually, like a natural progression. Strangers became friends became inseparable best friends. Closer than brothers. From there, it was only the tiniest of steps to intimacy. B.J. had been physically attracted to Hawkeye from the get-go—he wasn't going to lie to himself. There was a definite sexual tension to their relationship. There'd been countless glances and stares, touches and hugs, jokes and double entendres. They both had played the games. The suggestion had been there all along. Now the pretense was lifting.

Hawkeye leaned into him, excruciatingly slowly. B.J. finally broke his paralysis and moved to meet him. The kiss was tentative, and far too quick for B.J.'s liking. His heart pounding, he reached out and connected with Hawkeye's chest. Hawk took hold of that hand and gently maneuvered them both on the bed, so that B.J. wound up lying on his back with Hawkeye sprawled over him. B.J. felt light-headed with the sudden turn the night had taken. It was happening so fast. He wanted this, yes, but he was also scared. Then Hawkeye's mouth was back on his, tentative no more, and rational thought went AWOL.

Electric kisses, fingers gently exploring, warmth traveling between and through their bodies. B.J.'s breath caught as Hawkeye blindly began to unbutton his shirt. Because there was a small part of him struggling with the idea that this—_two men, deviant behavior, Sodom and Gomorrah_—was wrong, a tear spilled from one eye and fell down his face. Hawkeye was immediately aware of it. He pulled back a little, wiped the tear away with his thumb, and whispered, "We can stop."

"No. Don't stop."

"Beej—"

"Don't stop." B.J. punctuated his point by pulling Hawkeye's T-shirt off in one swift motion.

Surprisingly, that didn't distract Hawkeye as much as B.J. had hoped. "You're not sure about this," he said, his expression a peculiar mix of lust and concern.

"I am," B.J. insisted with a nod. He pulled Hawkeye back down to him.

Finally he could feel Hawkeye let go of his uncertainty and give in to the desire, as their kisses grew deeper and their breath came out in ragged rhythm. B.J. felt his own shirt being tugged off. _This can't be wrong. It doesn't feel wrong. It feels more right than anything has since the day I left Mill Valley.__  
><em>_  
><em>Mill Valley seemed like another planet now. Outside the window, Tokyo pulsed with bright lights, busy streets, and vibrant people. In no time at all, he and Hawkeye would be back in Korea, standing in blood and trying to stitch up broken kids. In this place and time, in the insanity that had become B.J.'s life, ending up in Hawkeye's arms was the only thing that made sense.

* * *

><p>On their last morning of R&amp;R, they lingered in bed, wrapped around each other, savoring every second until they'd have to head back to camp. Back to the war. "Do you regret this?" Hawkeye asked, running a finger lightly up B.J.'s side.<p>

"Never."

"Next R&R, we won't bother with two rooms."

"That would be a waste of the Army's money," B.J. agreed.

"Beej?"

"Mmmm hmmm?"

"You're not just another notch on the bedpost, you know." B.J. moved to look him in the eye but didn't say anything, so Hawkeye went on. "I wouldn't want you to think you were just some conquest, like this was a challenge or something." He paused. "This is real."

That was as close as Hawkeye was going to get to saying those _other _three little words, and B.J. knew it. He smiled, touched. "I love you too, Hawk."


	2. Incheon

_(**Author's Note:** I don't know if Incheon was a normal spot for R&R during the Korean War. On the show, it seemed like they always went to either Seoul or Tokyo for leave. However, in the last episode, the whole gang went to the Incheon beach for a day, and it looked like a perfect getaway… so let's just pretend it was an R&R destination, even if it really wasn't.)_

**Incheon**

The two of them were at the Incheon beach on R&R, lounging together on an Adirondack chair—the _same _chair, Hawkeye on B.J.'s lap—with their pants legs rolled up and their toes in the sand. B.J. sighed as Hawkeye leaned back against his chest, content, at least for the moment, in the silence. B.J. reached out to capture Hawkeye's hand in his own, laced their fingers together, and ruffled Hawk's hair with his nose. They both stared out at the ocean. The sky was a perfect blue, the sun was shimmering, the breeze was just the slightest bit cool. It was hard to believe there was a war raging anywhere on this planet, much less the same country.

B.J. tried to stay in the moment, because it was so damn beautiful, but he couldn't help it... he found his mind drifting back to last night. His eyes fell shut and he smiled as the sensations came back to him. Skilled hands and hungry kisses, murmurs and moans and sweet nothings. An astonishing tenderness coupled with an intensity that sent a shiver through B.J. just remembering it. A little reluctantly, he pulled himself out of the memory, because the present was too perfect to resist... the weather, the scenery, the man in his arms—all perfect.

"I'm about ten seconds away from falling asleep," Hawkeye muttered then, and B.J. tightened his embrace.

"You go right ahead and sleep," he said. "I'd be content to stay here like this all day."

It was probably longer than ten seconds, but not much. B.J. could tell from Hawkeye's breathing that he'd dozed off. His smile grew and he touched a kiss to Hawkeye's neck, musing in a whisper to himself, "How the hell did this happen?"

He didn't mean "how did I wind up halfway around the world from my family?" or "how did I get stuck in the middle of a goddamn war?"... or even "how did I manage to fall in love with a man?"

No, what he meant was... "How did I end up this happy in Korea?"


	3. Pillow Talk

**Pillow Talk**

When military personnel took their R&R in Tokyo, they had a whole host of welcoming, luxurious hotels from which to choose for their little respite from the war. In Seoul, however, the small, spartan Naija Hotel in the northern part of the city was pretty much the only game in town.

Didn't matter to B.J. A roof over his head that wasn't made of canvas and a bed that he could actually fit his entire 6-foot-3-inch frame on—not to mention Hawkeye's as well—were more than welcome. After so many months living in a cramped tent in a filthy compound, this was the stuff dreams were made of.

He sighed and ran a hand through Hawkeye's hair, his heartbeat slowing, his body tingling in the afterglow of their lovemaking. The hotel room and the bed may have been the stuff of dreams, but those creature comforts paled in comparison to the ecstasy of being in Hawkeye's arms. _Ecstasy _didn't even seem an adequate word… it was pure heaven to be lying with Hawkeye, to be naked and pressed against the naked body of the man he loved.

Hawkeye moved a little, his fingers slowly raking through the hair on B.J.'s chest. "Mmmm," he murmured, "I love a man with a hairy chest."

The contented smile on B.J.'s face faded the slightest bit. After a beat, he said, "Men?"

"Hmm?" Hawkeye looked up at him. His eyes had that blissed-out look that B.J. loved, because he knew he was the one who put it there. But he tried to stay focused on the matter at hand.

"You said 'man,' and that got me wondering. How many men have there been, Hawk? Besides me."

Hawkeye propped himself up on an elbow, hovering over B.J. "There have been a few men, yeah. More women, though. A _lot _of women. Don't you want to know about them too?"

B.J. waved a dismissive hand. "I already know about the women. You're legendary with women. What I'm asking you now is how many men you've been with."

Hawkeye shrugged. "It hasn't been that many, Beej."

"So _how _many?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Clearly Hawkeye was reluctant to go into detail, but B.J. wasn't willing to let it go. "You know that you're the only man I've ever been with. I think it's a fair question for me to ask."

Hawkeye sighed and fell back, looking at the ceiling, apparently counting. Hopefully not counting very high. Even as that thought crossed B.J.'s mind, Hawkeye wrote in the air with his finger and muttered, pretending to be talking to himself, "OK, and then carry the one…"

"Not funny, Hawk."

"OK, Beej. In all honesty? Besides you… six men. The first one was in college. OK? Does that satisfy your warped curiosity? Six."

"OK," B.J. said absently, also studying the ceiling. He wasn't sure what kind of an answer he'd expected, but six seemed like a lot. It seemed like a hell of a lot. He felt young and naïve; he hadn't even been to bed with six _women_. He was quiet for a few minutes, wondering if he was happier knowing than not knowing, and why he even cared. Then it finally came to him—what he supposed was the crux of the matter. The _real _question beneath the question. "Hawk?" he said tentatively, his voice soft.

"Yeah?"

"Do you like it better with men or with women?"

Hawkeye shifted again, leaning over B.J. and looking down at him, his eyes shining, his expression tender. He lightly ran a thumb over B.J.'s lower lip, then leaned down and gave him a soft kiss. He smiled sweetly and whispered, "I like it better with B.J."

And suddenly B.J. had no idea why they were having this conversation in the first place.


	4. Taking in the Sights

**Taking in the Sights**

Hawkeye sits in the chair by the window, his long legs stretched out, his hands resting on his chest. It's not quite dawn, and behind him, outside, the neon lights of Tokyo continue to flash off and on, red and blue and yellow… inviting him and all other soldiers on leave to come out and play. When he first got out of bed, close to a half hour ago, he thought he'd sit and look out the window, taking in the city, its brightness and life both exciting and soothing… an oasis from the war he's left behind for three days.

But he ended up looking out the window for only a few minutes before he grew tired of the scene. Then he'd turned his chair around, finding something more compelling to watch… something even more exciting and soothing: B.J., sleeping peacefully in their bed.

_Their _bed.

Well, for a few nights, anyway.

Hawkeye shifts in his seat and the chair creaks a little as he does. He goes still, hoping it wasn't loud enough to wake his lover… and after a moment, it's clear that it was not. He exhales, relaxes. B.J. looks serene, his face buried deep in his fluffy pillow. _Sleep on, sweet prince, _Hawkeye thinks.

It's the word "sweet" that suddenly gives him pause… because "sweet and innocent" go hand in hand, and he realizes that the B.J. Hunnicutt he met less than a year ago was the very embodiment of "sweet and innocent." Young and naïve, spit-polished and straight-arrow.

Hawkeye looks at that man now… the sweetness inherent, to be sure, never to be taken away or diminished. But innocence is long gone. The war took a good chunk of it, no doubt about that… but Hawkeye took the rest. He feels his face go warm with the sudden shame of it.

How could he have defiled this man? This innocent, apple-pie-and-hot-dog suburban kid with the storybook marriage and the brand-new baby. This newly minted doctor filled with wide-eyed wonder, fresh out of residency, _look ma, I'm a surgeon_. How could he have preyed upon this man and taken advantage of his clear admiration and gratitude?

Hawkeye leans forward, his body bristling as he subconsciously argues with himself. Is that what it was, he wonders? Capturing prey? Taking advantage?

_No_, Hawkeye thinks so vehemently that he actually shakes his head. _No, dammit, it's not like that at all.  
><em>  
>It's true that often in Hawkeye's life, sexual conquest has been a game to him. But not this time, not this relationship. Inside his own head, Hawkeye can admit that he's crazy in love with B.J., even though he's painfully aware that it's bound to end in heartache. The kind of heartache that will seep into his bones and take up heavy, throbbing residence, reminding him daily of the loss. He loves B.J. and he will lose B.J., and it terrifies him. But right now, even that takes a backseat to the pure guilt he feels as he watches the young man sleeping just a few feet away.<p>

_I never should have…_

_We shouldn't…_

_I can't…_

The slightly panicked, rambling internal monologue is abruptly interrupted as B.J. stirs, reaches out, and opens his eyes. He's instantly aware that Hawkeye is not next to him, and Hawkeye watches as he blinks and gradually focuses on his lover sitting a few feet away in the dark room.

Whenever they look at each other—even now, even in the dimness of this room—there's a surge of electricity in the air.

Sleepiness and a dry mouth slur B.J.'s words: "What are you doing, Hawk?"

Hawkeye smiles over at him, disguising his troubled thoughts with a playful reply, "Watching a beautiful man sleep." He pauses. "Or at least, I was."

B.J. pats the bed and gives a pretty decent come-hither look considering he's clearly still three-quarters asleep. "Come back to bed, Hawk."

And Hawkeye thinks, _What an opportune time to end this… right now… while I've still got the strength of my conviction._

Pat, pat. "Come back to bed."

Behind Hawkeye, outside the window, the first light of day has emerged. Shadows begin to fall across the floor and bed. A new day… could it be any more symbolic?

B.J. shoves the bedcovers aside to reveal his nakedness. He smiles, holds out his hand. "Come back to bed," he says again.

In his mind, Hawkeye shakes his head no, tells B.J. that they need to talk, puts on his most compassionate, let-'em-down-easy expression.

But in reality, Hawkeye simply stands, lets his red bathrobe fall to the floor, and goes back to bed.


	5. Seoul Searching

**Seoul Searching**

Hawkeye and B.J. had arrived in Seoul on R&R five hours ago and had yet to leave the hotel room. Their marathon lovemaking session had started on the bed, progressed to the shower, took a brief detour to the bathroom floor, and came full circle back to the bed. Now they disentangled and B.J. fell back, letting out a sigh. "You're wearing me out."

"I'm hungry," was Hawkeye's only reply to that.

"Whoa, slow down there, cowboy. I need some recovery time."

"I _mean_," Hawkeye said slowly, amused, "that I'm hungry for _food_."

"Oh." B.J. stretched, and Hawkeye couldn't take his eyes off that beautiful, glistening body. B.J.'s hand landed on Hawkeye's thigh with a light smack. "I don't think I have the energy to get dressed and go out. Why don't you go and bring something back?"

Despite being distracted by the tantalizing hunk of man laid out next to him, Hawkeye felt his stomach growling. "OK," he said, "but you're paying."

B.J. shrugged and gave a "go ahead" wave.

Hawkeye got up and quickly dressed, then fished B.J.'s wallet out of his pants pocket. He flipped it open and the first thing he saw was Peg Hunnicutt's photo. It stopped him dead. He stared at her, guilt and betrayal and sadness washing over him.

The room went still.

"You're married," he said softly, as if this were dawning on him for the first time ever.

B.J. propped himself up on his elbows, watching Hawkeye carefully. "We know that," he said. "We sometimes talk about my wife."

The attempt at levity wasn't working on Hawkeye. He was disturbed by the reality of the smiling woman in the photograph. "When this is all over, you're going to go back home to your wife. What are we doing?" And then something clicked in his brain, turning his concern back on himself, as some kind of defense mechanism against the guilt. "What are _you _doing? This is just some wartime fling to you. You're just using me, aren't you?"

"Hawk—" B.J. tried to interrupt the bizarre outburst, but Hawkeye was on a roll.

"Oh, I know," he said, holding up a hand. "Like I used all those women over the years. Maybe that's true, maybe I deserve this. But wait—you know what? There's a difference here. I think those women knew where they stood. They were just looking for some fun, too. This isn't the same. The difference is that I love you."

B.J. just stared at him, a measure of surprise crossing his features, and Hawkeye suddenly realized why. He had never said "I love you" before. Never… not even in the throes of passion.

A full minute passed, and then B.J. finally began to move. He crawled off the bed and stepped into his boxers. As he did, he looked at Hawkeye and said, "Actually, I _won't _be going back to Peg after the war."

It was Hawkeye's turn to be stunned. This was news to him.

"I would be living a lie if I went back to my old life, back to my wife, after this." B.J. slipped into his olive drab T-shirt, then went to Hawkeye and gently lifted the wallet out of his hands. He continued, his voice soft, "It's something I need to tell her in person, though. She won't be getting a Dear Jane letter from Korea. I refuse to do that. So I guess you don't have any guarantee that I'm telling you the truth, but I am."

Hawkeye still didn't speak. He considered it a miracle that he was able to blink. He hadn't come to Seoul with his best friend and lover to get a commitment, but that's what seemed to be happening. A fraction of him was scared, another fraction was skeptical (he'd been hurt before and it was certainly possible he'd be hurt again). But most of him wanted to believe this was real.

B.J. took some bills out of his wallet and handed them to Hawkeye. "Here, go get us some food."

Frozen in place, Hawkeye gazed at B.J. He was looking at comfort and friendship, at love and loyalty, at the one man he would willingly lay down his life for, if it came to that. He was looking at his partner in every sense of the word. Finally he got his brain and body functioning again, and he tossed the cash onto the desk behind him. "Food can wait," he said, the first words he'd spoken, he realized, since _I love you_.

"You were starving a couple minutes ago," B.J. pointed out.

"Well there's something else on my mind now," Hawkeye said, heading back toward the bed and pulling B.J. by the hand along with him. He looked B.J. up and down, cocked his head. "Why the hell did you get dressed?"

B.J. beamed at him. "I have no idea what I was thinking."

They peeled off each other's clothing and fell in a tangle onto the sheets.


End file.
